


For Boromir

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Fourth Age, General, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Tear-jerker, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Well-handled dialogue, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smell can be the greatest evocation of times past; Faramir remembers his brother.</p><p>A short fiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Boromir

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

As soon as it had touched his lips, the fragrance charmed his nose and in that instant his brother was before him.

The salve was a gift from Dol Amroth in the first place. The fishermen used it against those small cuts that are plagued by salt water, and to smooth over lips that the wind would otherwise chap raw.

Boromir, never a man to make much of small hurts, hated the inconvenience of sore lips and always used their uncle’s remedy of beeswax and calendula. Later, Faramir had recognised the touch of athelas in the unguent as well

It was ten years to the day that Boromir had ridden from Gondor, only to be returned borne on the bosom of the Anduin, as it cradled him down to the sea. Ten years that dissolved away like mist before sunlight with the smell of the balm. Faramir smiled. He breathed deep in the memory of his brother.

He remembered the first time Boromir had smeared it across his face, after he had played too long in the sun when on a visit to his uncle’s house. He recalled the scoured knuckles that his brother had anointed whilst delivering a lecture on swordsmanship after his first fencing lesson. He remembered a journey to the peaks in winter; when, caught in a sudden blizzard, they’d spent the night huddled together in a deserted shepherd’s cot. Embarrassed at first, as only very young men could be, they had each been grateful for the warmth of the other’s body. How angry Denethor had been that they had risked such a trip alone and in winter.

But most of all, most precious of all, he recalled the last kiss his brother gave him before he left forever. Faramir closed his eyes and inhaled, and the fragrant balm on his lips became as balm for his soul.

“Ada -”, a young voice called for his attention as a small hand tugged at his sleeve, “Do we go now?”

“Hush! O impatient one!” murmured Faramir . He dipped his finger in the small pot and smeared the protective wax across his young son’s lips inasmuch as he had his own; a son who squirmed in a remarkably similar manner to that in which his father had done in times past.

“Hold still, this is for your own good.”

Faramir unconsciously used the precise words spoken to him so many years ago when he was first so anointed. His son ceased wriggling for a moment and eyed his father curiously as Faramir burst out in soft laughter when he realised his brother’s voice echoed in his own words. The boy was scooped up into strong arms and held tightly; held all the closer so as not to see the tear that of a sudden came to his father’s eye. The youngster soon pulled free to run back and forth, a merry gadfly.

“Do we go to the river now?”

"Yes. We go to the Anduin.”

“Can I light the candle?”

“Yes. If you are careful.”

“And will you say the blessing?”

“Yes – I will say the blessing.”

“For Uncle Boromir?”

“For – Boromir.”


End file.
